


Proven Wrong

by violaceum_vitellina_viridis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blowjobs, Coming Untouched, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Sibling Incest, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 06:51:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15309813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violaceum_vitellina_viridis/pseuds/violaceum_vitellina_viridis
Summary: Sam hadn’t thought it was actually possible for anyone to come untouched - he’d always thought it was a fake porn thing. Of course, he’d always thought that Dean would never give in to him, too. For once, though, he was alright with being proven wrong.





	Proven Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> underage tag - Sam is about 16 in this
> 
> I finished a thing so I'm throwing it at the internet before I can over think it. It's technically been read over for errors but I probably missed a bunch, feel free to let me know about any of them. There's also a stunning lack of porn for the fact that this was literally an excuse for porn but what can you do ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

    The first time Sam ever came untouched was also the first time he choked on his brother’s dick. Wet dreams aside, Sam hadn’t even thought it was actually possible for anyone to come untouched - he’d always thought it was a fake porn thing.

   Of course, he’d always thought that Dean would never give in to him, too. For once, though, he was alright with being proven wrong.

 ----------

   They’d been alone for approximately before fifteen minutes before they were fighting.

   Not even arguing, no, they were past talking by that point. They’d spent three entire days in the Impala bickering - Dean had been pissy about the next hunt, one that John was leaving them behind for; Sam had been increasingly mad about being taken out of school every three goddamned weeks; and John had just been his usual half-sober ornery. It’d been a disaster of a trip and Sam knew John was glad to be leaving them in one of the safe-house cabins Pastor Jim owned.

   Of course, John wouldn’t have approved of Dean taking a swing at Sam as soon as he was gone, and he definitely wouldn’t have approved of the way Sam retaliated by kicking Dean’s knees out from under him, but. He wasn’t there to witness it.

   Which is why the fight got dirty fast. At one point, Dean punched his shoulder so hard his entire arm went numb and his fingers tingled. Sam got back at him for that by “forgetting” to shift his knee when they rolled, letting it land on the nasty bruise from the last salt-and-burn. Dean barely managed to hold back the groan at that one, which gave Sam a certain kind of sadistic pleasure.

   And, because he wasn’t lucky enough to just enjoy it, Dean managed to punch him in the jaw while he was distracted. Sam managed a decent elbow to Dean’s gut before they went sprawling again, legs and arms everywhere, both scrabbling for the upper hand.

   Finally, after several long minutes of wrestling and a lot of dirty, unfair jabs to sensitive and already-injured places, Dean got Sam pinned.

   “Fucking - _stop_.” Dean was panting, face red, a bruise blooming on his collarbone and chin and just under his eye.

   Sam huffed and tried to buck his brother off of him, to no avail. “You started it!”

   Dean shook his head. “God, I was just - _Jesus,_ Sam!” He barely dodged the knee to the groin Sam was aiming for, throwing himself to the side with a groan.

   Sam was immediately up on his feet and across the room, still tensed for retaliation but wanting the fight to end as much as Dean did. His entire abdomen hurt and he was a little worried he’d aggravated the fracture in his shoulder again.

   “You just what, Dean? Wanted to hit me without me fighting back? Christ, you’re the one who taught me how to fight.”

   Dean was on his knees, rubbing the bruise under his eye. “Yeah and you’re getting pretty good at it, asshole,” he said. It was a compliment, Sam knew, just disguised as a sarcastic comment because Dean was feeling as cagey as him.

   Sam huffed again, throwing his arms up in a dramatic motion that was almost entirely for show. He was calming down, now, and feeling better, less angry. He was sure Dean felt the same, but his brother was incapable of just admitting that, so Sam gave him an out.

   “I’m going to take a shower,” he said.

   Dean just grunted in response and Sam left him on the floor, rolling his eyes.

 ----------

   By the time Sam got out of the shower, Dean had started making dinner. It wasn’t much more than heated up soup and toast, but it was a damn sight better than the week-old gas station subs and stale donuts Sam had been eating for the past several days.

   “Hungry?”

   “Fucking starving.” Sam didn’t bother getting properly dressed, just put on some underwear and collapsed into the armchair closest to the little kitchen. The cabin was pretty small, but it was much better than the motels they usually stayed in and Sam appreciated the small comfort of clean upholstery.

   “Language, Sam.”

   “ _Language, Sam,_ ” Sam mocked in a high-pitched, nasal voice. Dean just sighed deeply.

   Dean came around a minute or two later, two plates piled high with toast and two steaming bowls balanced on his arms. Sam reached up and took one each, laughing when Dean grumbled something about not being a waiter.

   He decided not to mention to his brother that he was perfectly capable of getting his own food, had Dean only _asked._ Instead, he just dug in, barely masking the near-obscene groan at the taste. Sure, it was just canned soup and white bread but – week-old gas station sandwiches.

   Sam could cry, it tasted so good in comparison.

   Dean snickered at him, but he was practically inhaling his own serving, so Sam ignored it.

   They ate in silence. The fight had made Sam feel a little better, and he knew it had helped Dean cool down a bit, too, but there was still tension between them. There always was now. Sam was pretty sure there always would be, and he couldn’t blame anything or anyone but himself for it. He hated it all the same.

 ----------

**_six months earlier_ **

   Sam vowed that he was never mixing several shots of the first-aid whiskey with the good painkillers ever again. He hadn’t even thought about it at the time – sixty-eight stitches and a minor concussion did that to a guy – but now that he was awake and sober, everything _sucked._

   Both because the pain was back, multiplied by a hangover, and because he’d apparently told Dean everything last night.

   He didn’t remember doing it, but Dean definitely did.

   “What did I do, Sammy?”

   Sam sighed and flopped back onto the motel bed, ignoring the way his stitches pulled and pain lanced up his side. “You didn’t _do_ anything, Dean, I just – it’s just…how I am.” _How we are_ , he kept to himself, because Dean knowing about him was bad enough – forcing Dean into a panic about his own feelings was downright unnecessary when Sam was already in this much pain.

   Dean was silent, but Sam could practically hear the way his brain was scrambling for a way to blame this on himself. It was something about Dean that Sam was intimately familiar with, even if he hated it with everything in him.

   “I’m your _brother._ ”

   “No shit, Sherlock.” Sam took a deep breath, figured the cat was already out of the bag, and continued. “You’re my brother and I’m in love with you. You think I didn’t have a fucking meltdown about it two years ago when I figured it out?”

   “Language!”

   Sam ignored the admonishment and waited for Dean to catch up with what he’d actually said.

   “You – wait. Two years ago? You were – Sam – ”

   “Thirteen.”

   “That’s – you’re not – you were too young to – ”

   Sam props himself up on an elbow and levels Dean with an unimpressed look. “You lost your virginity when you were thirteen, Dean.”

   Dean gaped for a second. “That’s – that’s different!”

   Sam huffed and dropped back onto the bed. “Hardly.”

   “Yes, it is! This – this is…. Sam, you’re talking about –  about….”

   Sam laughed, but it was laced with too much pain to be anything but alarming. “Incest.”

   Dean was silent. Sam could feel the shock radiating off of him. He wondered idly if Dean would stop him from taking another Vicodin.

   Shock about Sam being in love with him or not, Sam knew Dean wouldn’t. His big-brother, “take care of Sammy” instincts trumped everything else, every time. Sam was stuck with Ibuprofen and maybe whiskey if he was lucky. The thought of alcohol made his stomach twist.

   Dean let out a harsh, wet breath, and Sam tensed. Here it was – Dean was going to lecture him, tell him that once his side was healed up that they needed to start spending more time away from each other, _for your sake, Sam,_ he could almost hear the words in Dean’s voice.

   That wasn’t what Dean said, though.

   “When?” It was small and quiet and Sam – Sam didn’t honestly know what to say.

   “…I was thirteen,” he repeated. Dean made a rough sound.

   “No, I know that – I mean…you were thirteen, what made you think…what made you realize you were….”

   Sam knew the answer immediately. “July fourth,” he said. “We burned down that field.”

   He could hear the way his brother’s breathing caught, decided to push it a little bit because he _knew_ his brother saw this thing between them, felt it too. He’d just never do anything about it, that damned _take care of Sammy_ in him. “Took everything in me to hug you instead of kissing you.”

   Dean made a noise Sam couldn’t quite identify, something between a sigh, a sob, and the sound he made when Sam jabbed him in the ribs. Sam was going to ask, but before he could figure out _what_ to ask, the door to the motel room slammed shut and he was alone.

 ----------

   Once Sam had been over his mortification – rather quickly, since he was more focused on his stitches at the time – he’d decided that he wasn’t going to let it slide.

   He knew Dean felt the same way, _knew_ it. He’d just never thought he’d get a chance to test it.

   Incest wasn’t exactly a casual conversation starter, after all.

   He’d been pushing it bit by bit ever since. Nothing big – he didn’t want to piss Dean off or scare him away, and he definitely didn’t want to alert their dad to what was happening – but little things. He touched Dean more, started _asking_ Dean about his hook ups (because Dean’s tales had never really bothered him so much as gotten him _hot and bothered_ ), “forgot” his clothes in the room when he’d shower.

   Dean had noticed, because of course he had, and refused to acknowledge that it was happening.

   About three months in, Sam had given up on the thought that Dean might ever give in. After that point, it was just for the fun of flustering his brother, the thrill of doing it itself. That, and that he’d gotten addicted to the touching – Dean never did touch back, but he also didn’t stop Sam, and Sam had fallen in love all over again with the way Dean’s skin felt under his hands.

   But the tension remained. Dean was…reserved, was probably the best word for it. He wasn’t as open with Sam as he had been before The Incident, as Sam called in is head. He went out more, too, hooked up with anyone who would take him.

   However, Sam had also noticed that he was hooking up with guys now (or more, because he guessed Dean might have been doing it before but keeping it quieter). And those guys looked a lot like Sam, so he was taking it as a win.

 ---------- 

   Despite the existing and permanent tension, after dinner everything was pretty normal. Dean insisted on looking over Sam to make sure the fight hadn’t caused any actual injury – because of course he would, and of course he wouldn’t let Sam attend to his bruises, muttering about, “I started it, I deserved it.”

   If Sam wasn’t too tired and too content with, y’know, not fighting again, he’d have hit his brother all over again.

   Once his “injuries” were tended to (a few bruises, and a triple-check that he still had full, painless range of motion in his shoulder) and he’d put real clothes back on, Dean pulled a pack of cards out of his duffle and gave Sam his best puppy-dog eyes.

   Sam would never, ever admit that he was just as helpless to Dean’s as Dean was to his.

   He rolled his eyes entirely for effect and slouched off the bed to where Dean was sitting at the little coffee table. “Alright,” he said, “but….”

   Dean immediately looked apprehensive. Sam figured he had a right, but he kept going anyway - they were alone for at least a week. Sam intended to take some advantage of it.

   “I’ll only play if we’re doing strip poker.”

   Dean blinked at him, seemingly shocked. It only lasted a second, though, before his expression morphed into a sleazy grin, the one Sam saw him wear in bars all the time when he planned on hustling everyone who underestimated him.

   It spoke to how gone on his brother Sam was that the expression made his cock twitch.

   “You sure you want to do that, Sammy? You’ll just end up buck-ass naked and a sore loser,” he said.

   Sam resisted a snort and decided against announcing _sounds like a good time_ like he wanted to. Instead, he just shook his hair out from his eyes and grinned right back at his brother. “Wanna bet?”

   Something changed behind Dean’s eyes – it was a small shift, but a shift nonetheless, and one Sam had seen before. Unfortunately, it wasn’t one he could name yet. Before he could really pause to think about it, Dean was nodding and dealing cards.

   “You’re on.”

 ----------

   Sam let Dean win the first three rounds.

   It was mostly strategic. Letting Dean win – as long as Dean didn’t know he was being allowed to win – meant that he got overly cocky, and that meant Sam could beat him easier down the road. Also, it gave him the advantage of being somewhat undressed. Despite what Dean might pretend, or what he’d say if asked, Sam knew Dean was attracted to him, knew that Dean watched him all the time, and it wasn’t just to protect him.

   No one who was just looking after another person spent that much time staring at their ass.

   After the third round, when Sam’s wifebeater came off – _why the hell do you wear so many layers, Sammy,_ and it took everything in Sam not to turn that into an innuendo of some kind – he upped the game.

   The fourth round went quickly, mostly because Sam wasn’t fucking around anymore, and he won by a landslide. Dean sputtered at the cards laid out in front of him for a second before levelling Sam with a glare.

   “You cheated.”

   Sam laughed. “How?”

   Dean waved a hand. “You – cards! You had to have extra cards.”

   Sam shook his head. “Where the hell would I keep them that you couldn’t see me get them, Dean?”

   Dean didn’t have an answer for that, obviously, since he responded with an indignant noise.

   Sam laughed again. “Besides, Dean. You’re the one who taught me how to cheat at poker. You’d see through any of it in a second and you know it. I won fair and square. Take something off.”

   Dean made another indignant noise and threw the empty card box at Sam’s head. He missed by a mile and Sam just grinned and gestured him on.

   Another strategic move on Sam’s part: he wouldn’t have suggested strip poker if Dean was properly dressed.

   Usually, Dean would have his whole ensemble on: wifebeater, t-shirt, flannel (he made fun of Sam for dressing in layers when he did the same damn thing, of course); underwear and jeans, socks and boots. Plus all of his weapons, most days.

   But tonight, he was in nothing but a t-shirt, wifebeater, and jeans. And underwear, Sam assumed, but he didn’t actually know that. It wouldn’t be the first time Dean had gone commando, but it would certainly work to Sam’s advantage if he had. He wasn’t getting his hopes up.

   Sam could see Dean struggling with what he should take off. “C’mon,” he goaded. “I promise I won’t make fun of you.”

   Dean flipped him off. “Fuck you.” He apparently decided, then, nearly ripping his shirt as he pulled it over his head. That left him in (probably) three pieces of clothing. Sam cheered inwardly but kept the smirk on his face.

   He didn’t expect anything to come of it, but he’d never turn down an opportunity to see his brother with less clothes on.

 ----------

   Sam won the next game and Dean lost the wifebeater. That left them both bare from the waist up, and Sam didn’t miss the way Dean was trying and failing not to stare.

   The game after that, Dean won – entirely on his own merit this time, nothing to do with Sam’s plan – which left Sam in just boxers and socks.

   The seventh game ended with neither of them winning because they both had exactly nothing in their hands, so Dean took all the cards up and shuffled again. Kind of angrily, which was funny.

   Dean was visibly off during the eighth game, his usual poker face totally gone, so Sam won. Dean lost the jeans, nearly evening them out again except Sam’s socks. Sam let Dean win the ninth, taking both of his socks off mostly because it would make it move faster.

   Sam didn’t miss the way Dean swallowed and looked pointedly away when they started the tenth game. He made a quick decision on whether he was going to win this one or not – of course Dean could always surprise him, but if he chose to lose, then Dean wouldn’t be doing anything more than _thinking_ he’d beat Sam. Sam decided, though, since they were both down to underwear, he was going to do his best to win.

   He was lucky enough that the cards did it for him – Dean didn’t have anything. Sam would have gloated for hours in any other circumstance, but this time he just raised his eyebrows at his brother. Dean’s jaw ticked.

   “Sam – ”

   Sam waved a hand to cut him off. “Rules of the game. C’mon, Dean, afraid of letting me see your dick?”

   This was…more than Sam would usually push. He didn’t know what it was, but he felt so much bolder tonight than he usually did. Maybe it was the absolute privacy – the only ‘neighbors’ were two other cabins that Pastor Jim owned, and they were a mile away on either side. Or maybe it was that he’d been watching Dean’s usual façade slip all night; his brother had been staring a whole lot more tonight than he ever allowed himself.

   Or maybe Sam was just batshit insane. Either way, his jab made Dean stand and pull his underwear down, which was a win.

   Even more so because he was half-hard.

   Sam smirked up at his brother, not hiding the way his eyes travelled slowly up from Dean’s chubby to his face. Dean was – holy shit, Dean was blushing, but he wasn’t looking away. There was something steely in his eyes, almost like he was daring Sam. To do what, Sam had no clue, but he’d be willing to take just about anything at this point.

   “Not bad,” Sam finally said, his voice low. Dean’s cock twitched visibly at it, which only made Sam’s smirk widen.

   Dean glared down at him. “Fuck off, Sam.”

   It was a split-second decision, and Sam still had no idea which direction it would push anything, but he said the first thing that came to mind. “I’d rather fuck you.”

   Sam saw Dean’s hand come down and ducked, expecting a hit, but instead, Dean’s hand tangled in his hair and pulled. He thought maybe Dean’s intention was to drag him to his feet by it, but Dean stopped moving entirely when Sam moaned.

   “…Sam?”

   Sam was panting a little. He blinked up at Dean, chewing his lower lip when he caught the look on Dean’s face, a mixture of honest-to-God worry and arousal.

   “Yeah?” Sam asked. His voice was even lower than before, and he kind of wished he could see what kind of reaction Dean’s cock would have to it now. He couldn’t look to find out because of Dean’s grip on his hair, though, and honestly Dean’s face was a good substitute.

   Dean bit his own lip and then tugged, just a little, at Sam’s hair. Sam lost his breath. It wasn’t a hard tug, barely even hurt, but it was enough to feel and Sam _loved it._ His scalp had always been sensitive, and it hadn’t taken him long at all after puberty to find out he really liked pain with his pleasure.

   Almost like he couldn’t believe that the first two reactions were real, Dean did it again, harder this time. It definitely hurt then but Sam’s eyes just rolled back and he whined. It was so, so good. More than he’d ever thought Dean would do, and one of his favorite things. His cock was throbbing between his legs.

   “Sammy?” Dean asked.

   “Hm, yeah?” Sam managed to force his eyes open. He found Dean blushing again, eyes open wide like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

   “…you like that?”

   “Mmhmm,” Sam nodded as best he could, shivering when it pulled on his hair, “yeah, I do.” He pushed his head against Dean’s palm, almost like a dog, then relaxed his neck to feel the tug again.

   Dean didn’t say anything to that, but he shifted his grip a little, so that the next time he pulled, Sam’s head went back. Sam groaned and bit his lip, doing his best to keep his eyes open so he could watch Dean.

   It was hard with the pleasure shivering through him, but it was entirely worth it.

   The worry was entirely gone from his expression. In its place was something like awe, the arousal that had already been there, and something entirely calculating.

   Sam shuddered all over again at the ideas of what Dean could be considering.

   “What else do you like?”

   Sam blinked, mouth opening on a gasp when Dean’s grip tightened. “Suh – _shit._ I like a lot of things.”

   Dean quirked an eyebrow. “Like?” His grip tightened a little more, like a threat, and Sam could feel this cock drooling. If he could look, he knew he’d find a wet spot on the front of his boxers.

   “Like – _oh,_ ” Sam lost his train of thought when Dean scratched at his scalp a little, remembered it when there was a sharp, quick tug afterward, “like sucking dick.”

   Dean’s reaction to that was full-body, a shiver Sam felt pull against his hair running through him.

   “…you serious?”

   Sam hummed an affirmative, sucking his bottom lip into his own mouth only to let it back out with a lewd sound. Dean jerked.

   “When have you even gotten a chance to suck a dick?”

   Sam laughed a little. “You really think I’m _always_ studying? Come on, Dean. It’s the best-used excuse in the teenage handbook.”

   “…I never used it.”

   “You never had to. Dad wasn’t around, and I’ve always been able to see right through you.”

   “Fuck off.” Dean was blushing again, just a bit, and Sam smirked.

   “I’d still rather fuck you,” he said. “Although if you’re really set on the _off_ part, I could always _suck_ you off.”

   “You really want to suck my dick, Sammy?”

   Sam could tell Dean hadn’t meant to ask that out loud – his facial expression spoke volumes – but he didn’t give his brother a chance to backtrack.

   “Fuck, _please._ ”

   Dean sucked in a breath, sharp and sudden, then groaned. His grip on Sam’s hair relaxed til he let go, and he started petting it instead. Sam let him, keeping his eyes on his brother’s face no matter how much he wanted to look down and see if Dean was still hard.

   “…you sure?” Dean finally asked, voice quiet and a little shaky. Sam knew that he could say no, that Dean would immediately drop all of this and put his clothes back on and pretend it had never happened.

   He’d never wanted anything so bad in his life as much as he wanted Dean’s dick in his mouth right now.

   “Positive,” Sam said. “Please, Dean? I want it. Want you.”

   Dean swallowed audibly. His hand was still in Sam’s hair, alternately scratching Sam’s scalp and petting through the strands. Sam turned his head just enough to kiss his wrist, still making eye contact. Dean shivered, and then Sam saw the shift again – the same one from earlier, the one he couldn’t name yet.

   Before he could say anything – either to ask, or maybe to beg again – Dean’s hand cupped the back of his skull and tugged at his hair again, this time forcing him to look down.

   Down, and straight at Dean’s cock, which wasn’t just hard, it was _dripping._ Sam felt a thrill go through him that forced itself out of his mouth in a thin whine. Dean’s grip tightened, his palm pressing forward a little, but Sam didn’t even need the direction.

   As far as he was concerned, permission had been granted. He reached up and grabbed Dean’s hips – something to focus on later, the next chance he got, because they were amazing in and of themselves – and ducked forward, licking up a trail of precum.

   He followed it clear to the head of Dean’s dick, straight to the source, and then sucked the crown into his mouth. Dean made a sound like he’d been punched in the sternum but he didn’t move away, didn’t push Sam back.

   Sam did an internal happy dance, but outwardly just tightened his grip on Dean’s hips and bobbed his head down.

   The noise Dean made then was even more broken, a little strangled, and he grabbed at Sam’s hair _hard,_ enough that some actually came out. Sam couldn’t help the belly-deep groan that came out of him for it, and Dean’s hips shot forward at the vibration.

   When Sam gagged and started to choke, Dean outright whimpered, and Sam yanked back as he started to come.

   “Shit, fuck, Sammy, I’m so sorry, fuck – ” Dean dropped to his knees while Sam was still hacking and sobbing, but stopped when he saw the wet patch spreading on the front of Sam’s boxers. “…fuck, Sam, did you just – ”

   “Yeah,” Sam managed to breathe out, then pushed forward and shoved Dean onto his back. As soon as Dean was out flat, he ducked back down and sucked Dean’s cock back into his mouth, consciously relaxing his throat and dropping all the way to the base.

   “Fuck!” Dean half-screamed it, entire body curling up around Sam as he came. Sam just gulped it down, mind hazy with orgasm and a little dizzy from lack of air.

   He only let go when Dean stopped convulsing, giving one last hard suck as he pulled up that made Dean’s leg kick out. He grinned when he looked back up at his brother, but Dean wasn’t even looking at him, eyes squeezed shut and breathing like he’d just run for his life.

   “Holy fucking shit,” Dean finally panted. “Jesus Christ, Sammy.”

   Sam just hummed and flopped backward, dopey grin still on his face.

 ----------

   It was a long, long time before either of them moved. Sam fell into an almost doze while he laid there, listening to Dean’s frantic panting even out into hard breathing and then back down to something like normal.

   Eventually, though, Dean started to wriggle around like he was trying to get up. Sam sighed.

   “You gonna freak out?”

   Dean made a weird sort of hitching noise in the back of his throat and Sam sighed louder, propping himself up on his elbows to look at his brother.

   Dean was sitting on his knees, one hand on the chair nearby as if he intended to use it to stand. His eyes were wide when they met Sam’s, and he looked terrified.

   “What, did you think you could get up and bolt without me noticing?” Sam sat up properly, cross-legged, and levelled Dean with a cool look. He glanced away, but then adjusted so he was also sitting cross-legged, directly across from Sam. “Where would you even _go_?”

   “Uh. I thought you were asleep?”

   Sam snorted at the lie. “Nice try,” he commented. “But you’re not getting away from this.”

   “From what?” Dean immediately went defensive, like a wall slamming down. Sam resisted rolling his eyes.

   “From _this,_ ” Sam gestured between them, “from talking about it.”

   “Look, Sam.” Dean looked very pointedly away, which meant he was going to either lie or say something he didn’t want to – he thought Sam didn’t know his tells if he couldn’t see Dean’s face. It was almost endearing in how stupid it was. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

   Sam laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Whether it should or shouldn’t have happened doesn’t fuckin’ matter anymore, Dean. It _did_ happen.”

   “It’s shouldn’t happen again!”

   Sam let himself roll his eyes again. “Why not?”

   “Because, Sam! It’s _wrong_!”

   “Give me a list of anything we do in a day and I’ll give you why damn near all of it is wrong, Dean,” Sam deadpanned. “You’re gonna have to come up with something better than that.”

   “It’s illegal.”

   “So is every weapon we own. And the license plate on the Impala. And the sixteen fake IDs in your duffel.”

   Dean looked a little lost. Sam just raised an eyebrow at him.

   “Sam, it’s – ”

   “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want anything like it to happen again.”

   Dean was caught, there; he looked at Sam and gaped. After a moment, he managed to close his mouth, but immediately opened it again like he was going to say something. Sam just raised his eyebrows and Dean’s teeth clicked as he closed his mouth again.

   “Exactly.”

   Dean swallowed audibly. “…what about Dad?”

   Something weird twisted in Sam’s stomach at the mention of their father. “He can’t know, obviously.”

   “How would we hide…that? He’s not an idiot, Sam, he’s – ”

   “He’s blind, when it comes to us, and especially you. He hasn’t noticed that I’m in love with you or that you’re in love with me, yet, has he? Other people ask us if we’re together all the time.”

   “That’s different, Sam! We weren’t – we haven’t been… _doing_ things….”

   Sam took pleasure in the fact that Dean hadn’t even tried to deny being in love with him. “No, but it’s hardly the first thing we’ve agreed to keep from Dad, is it? We lie all the time, Dean. This would just be another lie.”

   Dean chewed on his lip. “…I guess, but….”

   “Don’t,” Sam finally moved, uncrossing his legs and scooting forward until he was as close to Dean as he could get without climbing into his lap. “Don’t talk yourself out of it.”

   “Sam….”

   “I want it. _You_ want it. C’mon, Dean.”

   Dean huffed, sounding strained. Sam didn’t miss the way his brother’s eyes dropped to his lips and then shot back up to his eyes like he’d done something wrong.

   “You can, you know,” Sam murmured, leaning just a little closer.

   “I can what?”

   “Kiss me.”

   Dean sucked in a breath, short and hard enough that it whistled through his teeth. Sam smirked.

   “C’mon, Dean.”

   Dean blinked at him, expression somewhere between scared and stunned, but then it morphed. The glint in his eyes was almost anger, except that he was suddenly grinning, and Sam’s stomach swooped.

   “Little shit,” Dean muttered, and then he moved; before Sam could figure out what was going to happen, Dean surged forward and pushed him back, knocking him onto his back. In the same smooth movement, Dean shoved between his legs and settled himself along Sam’s body, their hips and stomachs pressed together, Dean’s face hovering inches above Sam’s where he’d propped himself up on his elbows.

   “ _Fuck_.” Sam couldn’t have stopped the exhalation if he’d wanted to. His hips bucked up, once, involuntarily, and the predatory look on Dean’s face faltered a little when his eyelids fluttered.

   “Goddamnit,” he breathed. “Gonna be the death of me, Sammy.”

   Sam whined. “Just kiss me, asshole.”

   Dean laughed, even though it was a little strained, and did just that.

**Author's Note:**

> the amount of kudos on my last fic is probably to blame for this
> 
> this author requires validation.


End file.
